


Gisquet's Dog

by Esteliel



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Collars, Forced Masturbation, M/M, Puppy Play, Under-Desk Blow Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-06
Updated: 2016-01-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 05:40:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5654485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They would look at him and snicker. They'd call him Gisquet's dog when he passed.</p>
<p>But none of them knew how much he was Gisquet's dog in truth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gisquet's Dog

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss M (missm)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/missm/gifts).



The moan that escaped Javert was muffled by the prick that filled his mouth. A hand dropped onto his head for a moment, and he redoubled his efforts, ignoring the saliva that dripped down his chin. The fabric of Gisquet's trousers rubbed against his cheeks. Javert's eyes were closed so that he could better concentrate on the sensations. His body ached with that dull throb of need that had been denied for hours, but he gave no regard to it. All he could focus on was the way Gisquet's prick twitched on his tongue, heavy and thick and sliding easily deep into his throat when he swallowed around it until he could not breathe, his nose buried in the wiry curls.

The scratching of pen on paper paused for a moment at that, and Gisquet made a sound of pleasure. His hand slid from Javert's head until his fingers came to rest against the leather collar that encircled Javert's throat, and Javert whined deep in his throat as he felt Gisquet rub along it.

“Good dog,” Gisquet said, and heat burst in Javert's belly. Gisquet's hand remained in place, and so Javert kept swallowing around him, lightheaded now from the lack of air, his prick straining in his trousers. When he was allowed to draw back at last he was panting for breath, spit drooling from his chin and his throat aching from the sizable erection. Even so it took Gisquet's fingers hooking into his collar to hold him back from eagerly leaning forward immediately once more to worship the tempting cock before him.

“No,” Gisquet said, and then, “Sit.”

Javert bit back another whine, too well trained to disobey. After a moment, the fingers released his collar. Javert licked his wet lips. There was the sound of a letter being opened, and Javert waited silently, eyes still trained on the large, purple cock that gleamed with his spit.

Gisquet was a patient man, and so, for a few endless minutes, while Gisquet perused the contents of the letter and then set to penning an answer, Javert was faced with the tantalizing vision before him while his master's command held him motionless. Disobedience was unthinkable, but even so Javert's balls ached with the steady throb of his pulse, and he licked his swollen lips as he stared at Gisquet's prick. He could feel the leather constrict around his throat as he swallowed. A chain had been clipped to it, and that chain in turn was fastened to Gisquet's desk, though Javert would never think of moving without his master's command. Still, the collar against his throat was familiar, the leather smooth against his skin, and Javert knew that chain or no chain, he'd kneel attentively to await his master's commands, the loyal guard dog a man of Gisquet's standing deserved.

When Gisquet held out his hand for him, he nuzzled it gratefully and lapped at his fingers.

Gisquet allowed it for a moment, then chuckled. When he drew his hand away, Javert's eyes slid back to his cock, still just as large and hard. He had to lick his lips again, his throat dry. Would he be allowed to suck him once more now? To bring him to completion? Or would Gisquet make him wait until he forgot himself and begged?

When Gisquet's hand returned, it held a glass, and he used it to pour water into the small bowl that stood near his chair.

“Drink,” he said, and Javert leaned down gratefully, trying to drink from the bowl without making more of a mess. It was undignified. He flushed with shame at the wet sounds he was making and the water that dripped down his chin, but the water was cool on his parched throat, and the thought of Gisquet watching him lap up the water made his prick swell even harder in his trousers.

“Good,” Gisquet said when he was done, and then motioned him to come forward once more. Javert was nearly panting before he closed his lips around Gisquet's prick at last, the whine of ecstasy cut short when the large cock slid into his throat once more. Gisquet kept one hand curled around his neck—not to hold him in place, for Javert was already swallowing convulsively around his cock, determined not to withdraw until he had earned his prize. Instead, Gisquet's fingers slid along his skin, reminding him of the collar tight around his throat and the chain attached to it. Javert drew back just enough to be able to whine pitifully as his tongue teased the large, heavy cock, tasting the sweat and the musk and the salt of Gisquet's need. At last Gisquet groaned in satisfaction; warm seed filled Javert's mouth and was eagerly swallowed as Javert moaned around him.

“Good,” Gisquet said again when he was done at last, slightly breathless, “Good dog.” 

Pride swelled Javert's chest. He licked up what he had spilled, cleaning Gisquet's prick with careful, attentive strokes until it was clean and soft and Gisquet's breathing no longer quite as heavy.

“Gerard, please call Chabouillet in now,” Gisquet then said. Sudden shame made Javert flush and rear back in terror. How long had Gisquet's secretary been in the room? Had he seen?

“Sit!” Gisquet ordered sharply, a first hint of anger in his voice. “Stay, Javert!”

Javert froze, horror at his disobedience warring for a moment with the shock until he swallowed down his shame. With his head lowered, he remained on his knees before Gisquet even when Gerard came to collect what letters Gisquet had finished. Had Gerard seen? Had he also seen the collar and the chain?

And yet, what did it matter if he did? It was not for the dog to question its master, Javert reminded himself painfully. It was for the dog to obey.

He stayed on his knees even when the door opened and closed again after a moment, and the sound of steps told him that Chabouillet had entered. Javert was tense. Again he told himself that it was not his place to question Gisquet, but he could feel sweat drip down his back when he imagined Chabouillet's eyes on him.

“Just a moment, Chabouillet; please take a seat. I have one more letter to see to.”

Javert dared not move. Was Chabouillet watching him?

A hand gripped his collar again. The chain was unhooked.

“Under the desk, Javert. See to my guest.”

Did he mean...? Javert flushed, but habit already had him beneath the desk. When he knelt before Chabouillet, his collar was gripped once more. Then he was pulled up by it so that Chabouillet could study the leather.

“He is obedient? They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks...”

“And yet I have never found a dog that could not be trained.”

Javert was still flushed, could hardly breathe past the shame and excitement. Chabouillet's hands undid the buttons of his trousers, and that was all the encouragement Javert needed. Chabouillet was only half hard, but swelled in his mouth. He tasted faintly of soap, as though he had only just risen and washed. Javert lapped at him eagerly while Chabouillet patted his head. Dimly, he heard them talk some more—had Gerard entered the room again? Don't think about it, he told himself, even though he couldn't keep the heat of shame from rushing to his cheeks. Gerard couldn't see him, even if he was in the room; the desk hid him well.

Then Chabouillet's hand was back in his hair, petting him gently. Javert redoubled his efforts, moaning a little at the way Chabouillet's prick had now fully hardened, heavy on his tongue and dripping with the first drops of his essence. Javert swallowed him into his throat, closing his eyes with ecstasy at the way Chabouillet stroked his hair. He could feel the leather of his collar move every time he swallowed, and that was reassuring too.

Chabouillet groaned when he came at last. Dutiful, Javert remained in place while spurt after spurt of warm seed was released down his throat. His own prick ached relentlessly. He couldn't touch it—he wouldn't, even if he hadn't been forbidden from doing so. But still, just the sensation of the huge cock jerking in his mouth as Chabouillet's balls released their seed was nearly enough to make him spend himself in his trousers. He whined when he was allowed to draw back at last, panting breathlessly as strings of saliva dripped from his lips. There was no command to call him back yet, and so he licked Chabouillet clean with quiet concentration.

“Good dog,” Chabouillet said at last, stroking down his neck until his fingers reached the collar. “Very good.”

Dizzy with need, Javert turned his head to lap at Chabouillet's fingers as well, nuzzling them until Chabouillet patted him in apology and pushed him back. Even as Javert crawled back beneath the desk to his master's feet, he couldn't help but think of what it would feel like to meet Chabouillet the next time he had to report to his patron on a case. Would they both pretend nothing untoward had happened? Would he still be Javert, outside of this room, and not _dog_?

Or would not rather Chabouillet tell him to close the door, and then stand and make him remove his stock and open his shirt to bare the dog collar beneath to Chabouillet's eyes?

Javert shivered, even when Gisquet took hold of his collar once more and clipped the chain into it. Tentatively, Javert rested his head on his knee, and Gisquet chuckled and patted his head.

“Such a good dog,” he said. Javert closed his eyes in bliss, ignoring the steady throb of need between his legs. 

It took a while until the two men were finished with their business. There were no more interruptions this time. At last, Chabouillet rose, and Gisquet moved to unhook the chain once more.

“Will you take the dog out with you?” he asked. Another shudder ran through Javert at the thought of being led out like this, with the collar on and his prick tenting his trousers. Would Chabouillet do such a thing? Would he ask for a leash too so that Javert had to follow behind on the marble floors of the prefecture...?

“Sit,” Gisquet said and pointed at the floor next to the desk. Javert obeyed, ignoring the ache of his prick.

“I won't take him like that,” Chabouillet said. “Your dog will stain itself. Look at that, Gisquet.”

Javert clenched his jaw, another whine trapped in his throat at the thought of walking through the prefecture with his trousers damp with his own miserable release.

“Take care of that, Javert,” Gisquet commanded. “Now. And hurry. Chabouillet is a busy man.”

Javert was panting even before he had managed to open his trousers. As soon as the buttons of the flap were half undone, his prick sprang forward—a rude thing, all ruddy skin and fully erect, the foreskin retracted and the head already glistening with fluid.

“What an animal,” Chabouillet said, and Gisquet chuckled while Javert choked down another whine. His fingers trembled when he closed them around his cock. He couldn't even remember when the last time was he'd touched himself. Gisquet, though for the most part pleased with his service, saw no sense in spoiling his dog with unearned rewards either, and so his balls had ached for weeks now. He gripped himself so hastily that he groaned half in pain, half in unbearable need at the tight clench of his fingers.

“But very well trained. And very obedient.”

Javert fucked his fist, squeezing so hard it hurt, his balls aching dully—and then it came, spend spurting out and spilling over his fingers while he gasped. He had been mindful enough to keep his prick pointed away from his clothes. Now it dripped onto the floor until at last, breathless, he bent forward, spent and completely exhausted. His release had pooled beneath him, cooling on the floor, and when Gisquet said, “Good dog,” voice low and pleased, Javert's prick gave another lazy twitch.

He pressed his tongue to the puddle of his own seed, cleaning it with slow, meticulous swipes of his tongue until not a spot was left. Every time he swallowed, he felt the pressure of the tight collar around his throat. He imagined closing his shirt over it, and the stock over that. He would walk outside and no one would know.

They would look at him and snicker. They'd call him Gisquet's dog when he passed.

But none of them knew how much he was Gisquet's dog in truth.

When his fingers brushed his collar, it was with reverence before at last he buckled the stock in place once more, hiding his true nature beneath the shirt for another day.


End file.
